


Of Magic and Skeletons in the Cupboard

by holy_milk



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adopted Children, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Bad Parenting, Dark Magic, Discussion of Abortion, Drama, F/F, Family Drama, Gen, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other pairings to be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 05:44:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20384638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holy_milk/pseuds/holy_milk
Summary: The fragile truce between the oldest son of Finwë and his half-siblings has been observed for quite a long while now. But will it stay that way with Fingolfin striving to secure the title of the Minister for Magic for himself, Fëanor having absolutely none of it, and an ex-Dark Wizard getting released from Azkaban after over 40 years of imprisonment for the crimes nobody wants to talk about?





	Of Magic and Skeletons in the Cupboard

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I've had this vague idea of wanting to read a fic 'that's like Silm but set in the setting of HP' for probably as long as I'm actively involved in the Silm fandom, and nobody seems to have written it so far (?), so here I am, finally getting it out of my system.  
2\. As you can guess, it's NOT an HP fic or crossover. Some HP/FB characters and events may get mentioned in the text but as far as I have this story figured out, this is an exclusively Silm fic set in an alternative universe.  
3\. Also English is not my native language, so please don't hesitate to point out any strange-looking language you may encounter in the text. Corrections and commentaries are highly appreciated!

The house stood out against the night sky, a dark silhouette on the edge of a cliff far from the village; a thin path leading towards it has all but overgrown with grass. The house itself didn’t look particularly ominous — or rather, it didn’t look like one of the creepy haunted houses from horror books and movies, — although it did have an abandoned look, its windows completely dark and the small garden in the front rank with weeds. Moreover, there was something... unsettling about it. Was it the impenetrable silence that smothered it like a thick woolen blanket? Or the fact that there was not a single star in sight on the cloudless sky right above it?

Was it really her final destination? The woman smoothed out the piece of paper she was holding and reread the hasty, sprawling handwriting somewhat uneasily. She had been given no address, only a set of instructions on how to find this peculiar dwelling; frankly, she was unsure this house _had_ any address at all, since it was so obviously invisible to muggles, and, well, wizards could get their messages across without help of any post service requiring such a mundane thing as an address. Both the house in question and the road that had led her towards it, however, turned out to match the description perfectly.

Holding up her magic wand to give her some light, she went up the stairs to the front porch, squaring her shoulders and pressing on the doorbell button. Then she froze, waiting.

She didn't look a day over 23 or even less so. Her straight fair locks, silvery in the cold magic light cast by her wand, flowed freely out of the hood concealing most of her face, so that only the pale cheeks and the bloodless lips could be seen beneath it. The cloak covering her long, slim frame was dark, blending in almost completely with the surrounding shadows.

For a long while nobody answered the door, and not a sound could be heard from the inside. But just as she reached to ring the doorbell again, the door opened silently, and a stretch of light from a luminous hallway fell on her face, blocked out a moment later by the tall, broad-shouldered figure of the host.

He was wearing a plain loose-fitting robe, his long dark hair pulled back — all in all, he had the look of someone who had been just getting ready to go to bed. There was no sleep in his eyes though, only curiosity. Leaning slightly against the doorframe, he took in her hooded silhouette and the wand in her hand before raising an inquiring eyebrow.

"How can I help you at this hour?"

"I’m sorry if I've woken you up," she apologized, although she was sure that wasn’t the case. "But I was advised to come at night so that I would have a better chance of finding you at home... and wouldn't attract any unwanted attention."

The man frowned slightly.

"Advised by whom, exactly?"

"She didn't really give me her name," she faltered, "but she called herself the Weaver and she gave me this," she held out the piece of paper; beneath the instructions in English there were a couple of lines scribbled in an unfamiliar alphabet. Apparently, it wasn't so unfamiliar to the man as he gave a small chuckle once his eyes fell onto the odd-looking letters.

Returning her the paper, he stepped aside and nodded towards the hallway.

"I suppose you should come in, then."

She let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

She entered the hallway, lowering her wand — but not quite putting it away just in case — as well as her hood. Her hair, silvery before, turned golden in an orange light of a lamp. Her dark eyes, previously shadowed by the hood, contrasted dramatically with her pale face.

The house looked far more hospitable — and bigger — on the inside than it did on the outside. The dark façade must have been some sort of a magic trick — because, in fact, all the lights were on in the hallway, on the stairs leading up to the first floor, and in an open room to her right which she suspected to be a living room. The inside was in quite a mess, too, every horizontal surface in sight crammed with all sorts of things — mostly books and scrolls but also old quills along with muggle pens and pencils, sharpened and resharpened many times over, inkpots containing inks of a great variety of colours, pieces of paper, envelopes, old newspapers, and a whole bunch of devices, the purposes of which were not clear. The man followed her gaze looking over the clutter and gave her a sheepish smile.

"Sorry for the mess. I tend to forget about cleaning up while working, and my assistant usually deals with it but he is indisposed at the moment."

She gave him a small nod. She didn't feel like it was her place to complain.

He led her into another room — the living room, as she had correctly guessed — which turned out to be a bit less cluttered than the hallway. Nevertheless, he had to put away a pile of leather-bound books before she could sit on a sofa. Having cleared off an armchair opposite of her in the same manner, he sat down himself and looked at her inquisitively, resting his chin on his locked hands.

"So, I guess there is some kind of... _help_ you're expecting from me. What is it?"

The woman lowered her gaze onto her hands — one still gripping the wand, another one clutching the fabric of her cloak — and her fair locks fell over her face, concealing it once again. Silence fell for a moment, while she was seemingly gathering her strength to answer.

"I... I need to terminate my pregnancy."

The man raised his eyebrows, surprised — apparently, whatever answers he was expecting, this wasn’t one of them. But before he could open his mouth she started speaking at once.

"I’ve tried _everything_, I’ve— I’ve tried it the muggle way — the pills, the remedies — but it did _nothing_ — and I’ve looked for any— any spell, or potion, or ritual, or artifact— but there was _none_, not a single one in any of the books I could get my hands on... And _someone_ must know how to do it but I can’t go around asking question, can I? Because they will _know_," her voice hitched, and she had to take a couple of breaths but her eyes stayed absolutely dry. "No one. No one can know about it."

He tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes.

"And what makes you think I can be of any help here?"

She lowered her head again.

"There are rumours," she said quietly, "that you’ve been exploring all sorts of... _unorthodox_ magic— and I thought maybe... And I know that's what you do — you help people deal with the problems they don't want anyone else to know about. And, as I said. I can’t have anyone finding out about _this_."

There was a moment of silence. He unlocked his fingers and leaned forward a bit, his hands coming to rest on the armrests, expression of sympathy falling into his face.

"I’m sorry you found yourself in a situation like this," he said softly, "and I am not unwilling to help you deal with it, but this matter..."

"I’ll pay," she interrupted him hastily, "if that’s what concerns you. Whatever price you set, I’ll pay it — it’s not going to be a problem."

He shook his head.

"That’s not really the case," but then he paused and frowned, looking as if he’d just remembered something important. "I’m sorry, you haven’t given me your name yet."

She looked at him warily, biting her lip.

"I’m not going to seek out your friends and family," he reassured her, reading into her reluctance. "But I do believe you already know my name, and it seems a little unfair that I don’t know yours."

"Míriel," she answered hesitantly.

"Míriel," he echoed, "I’ll try to see what can be done to help you. But first I’ll make us some tea," he stood up, turning towards the kitchen, Míriel eyeing him somewhat doubtfully, "and then we’ll talk about it in more detail, shall we?"


End file.
